


smile

by shannedo



Category: RWBY
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon-Typical Violence, Gay Clover Ebi, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, bi Qrow branwen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannedo/pseuds/shannedo
Summary: “He said some pretty troubling stuff, about being better off alone. I don’t like seeing people doubt themselves like that.”(alternately titled: 5 times literally the entirety of Remnant realised Clover was in love with Qrow + 1 time ya boi actually works it out for himself)
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 60
Kudos: 810
Collections: rubess





	smile

**Author's Note:**

> CW: there is a scene featuring **relapsed alcoholism**. If that's a concern for any reader, please give this fic a miss! I posted another Fair Game fic yesterday that is much fluffier than this one (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804772) featuring Dad!Qrow and it is not sad at all. Look out for yourselves, guys <3

**I. James**

After a long and tiring day, James was glad the final item on his official to-do list was debriefing with Clover Ebi. Even if he would no doubt be stuck for a few more hours in the office that was now becoming maddening, Clover was always a fresh breath competency and positivity. If he had _half_ as much self-assurance as the leader of his Ace Ops… well, James wasn’t sure if it would make him better or worse at being General.

The man in question strolled in just as the sun was skimming the horizon, settling the sky alight in a red blaze. Clover was humming to himself, spinning the hook of his weapon round in lazy circles. When he looked up and met Ironwood’s eyes, he seemed to have almost forgotten where he was and quickly dropped the hook, standing up straight and bringing his heels together. “General,” he said quickly.

“Good evening, Clover,” James said, sipping at a mug of coffee and grimacing when he discovered it had long since gone cold. “Something on your mind?”

Clover was stern faced, but a little pink flooded his cheeks. “Just the mission, sir. It’s been a big day.”

“That it has,” he allowed, “I trust everything went as smoothly as you summarised earlier?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Nothing of note to report, really. Just a standard shoot-‘em-up. The trainee huntsmen were helpful in securing the mine, more so than I was even expecting.”

James thought on the young huntsmen as he often did – with weariness and a repressed sigh. Sending them into missions he wouldn’t even risk giving his most experienced students sat uneasily with him. But sadly, he knew those kids had been through a baptism by fire since the fall of Beacon. If they weren’t ready now, they never would be. “I’m glad they’re proving themselves so able. They always had so much potential, but theirs is a heavy burden,” he paused for a second, then thought, “What about Qrow Branwen?”

“Hm?” Clover’s eyes widened.

“How did you find him?”

If it wasn’t just part of Clover’s natural ninety-five percent upbeat and five percent smug persona, James could have sworn the younger man wore a hint of a smile. “I know you paired us up to see how our semblances would balance out, so if I’m honest with myself, I was kind of expecting a Negative Nancy, woe-is-me klutz.”

James repressed a chuckle. “That sounds a little like Qrow.”

“Yeah, a little! But he was… surprising. A lot more than all that.”

James knew what he meant. He saw it in Qrow’s dry-as-bones humour, easy charm and the way he loved his nieces so much it was as though he feared if he let up for even a second, they’d vanish. “He’s been through a lot over the years. With his work and his family,” James admitted, to which Clover nodded as though he wasn’t quite surprised. “People like that tend to have a pretty strong spark inside that keeps them going.”

“Yeah,” Clover agreed. He seemed far off, green eyes drifting as though he was in another room entirely. “He said some pretty troubling stuff, about being better off alone. I don’t like seeing people doubt themselves like that.”

James nodded, chewing at his bottom lip. Qrow had always strayed a little closer to the dark side of the mind than James was happy with. Even if he had let up on the drinking. “Well, at least where the Ace Ops is concerned, he won’t be alone. The Atlesian Military has a long tradition of teamwork-“

“Is he, um…” Clover jumped in, and then looked abashed when he realised the General had been saying something that he wasn’t quite paying attention to. But the interruption had been made, so he persevered. “Qrow. You’re old friends. Would you know who he’s… um… interested in?”

Oh.

_Oh._

James felt his jaw go a little slack but then hurriedly cleared his throat and pulled himself back together. Clover was blushing so hard the colour of his cheeks clashed with his uniform and honestly, James found that it just deepened his own embarrassment. “Well, I- uh…” _Words, James. Words. Use them._ “I’m afraid I can’t really tell you. He’s, uh- well, he has a natural charm. But for as long as I’ve known him, anytime he wasn’t working, he was mostly just intent on his family. I’ve never known him to date.”

“Right,” Clover blustered out a sigh, looking a little deflated. His shoulders curled inwards and _oh god,_ but he had such a kind face, James never did like seeing it warped by sadness.

 _Fuck this,_ a voice in James’ head said, _you didn’t work this hard and climb the ladder this far to play matchmaker for Qrow fucking Branwen._ He remembered the slip of a boy with a wickedness in his eye who had embarrassed him in front of all of Atlas at the Vytal Festival, over twenty years ago. What a good-for-nothing twerp he had thought he was.

 _Where’s your humanity? Your warmth?_ Another voice argued back. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Qrow.

“Qrow is one of the best people I know,” James said, and _wow, where did_ that _come from?_ “So, if the leader of my Ace Ops was going to spend valuable military time mooning over anyone, I guess it should be him.”

The gloom seemed to lift from Clover’s face all at once at that, and James had to repress a laugh, because if it was Marrow in front of him, his tail would be wagging furiously. Now _Marrow_ developing a crush on Qrow would be entirely too much. Qrow would rip that poor kid to shreds as soon as look at him.

Clover, on the other hand – well, maybe James liked his chances. “Just don’t get on his bad side,” he warned the Ace Op, nearly as an afterthought. “The Branwen family are known for some rather spectacular temper tantrums.”

* * *

**II. Winter**

Winter had been surprised when Qrow had asked her to come training with him. They weren’t exactly friends, after all. Tolerating each other for the sake of the General certainly didn’t qualify them as friends in Winter’s book, anyway.

But then, Qrow’s friends in Atlas likely started and ended with the General. Atlas wasn’t the sort of place where a grumpy, self-loathing man with a drink habit that probably should have killed him by now thrived. And the General – with an entire kingdom to run – likely wasn’t going to make it to the training yard anytime soon.

She obliged Qrow - she needed practice herself, after all – and spent the better part of an hour dodging and swooping out from under him. Having hidden herself behind a blockade, she took a second to draw a ragged breath and think to herself. He’d always fought with considerable aggression – likely something to do with that bandit tribe he took his name from – but had he always been so outright murderous? She’d barely gotten out of the starting blocks herself; she’d spent so much time parrying and blocking his attacks. Maybe the last couple of years had been harder on him than anyone realised.

Qrow was nearly on her, once again, his scythe already in full swing, ready to take another chunk out of her battered aura. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she was able to summon her Beowulf, wrought in ice, which knocked Qrow off his feet as she darted out of the way. She threw out glyphs to catch her and swing the direction of her momentum back to Qrow. Then, she fell on him with her sword once again.

By the time they were both exhausted and sprawled out on the training mats, desperately trying to drag in a breath, Winter had no idea how long they’d been there or who had won.

“No, yours is _definitely_ one point lower,” Qrow commented, studying their auras on his scroll with a crease between his brows.

“That’s not possible. I landed twice as many hits.”

“Well, we would have a clear winner if you didn’t leave your summonings to take half the hits for you,” he curled his lip.

Winter scowled, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “As if _your_ semblance didn’t play any part. I broke a heel!”

Qrow was doing a horrible, whiny approximation of her voice that sounded nothing like her when the doors at the far end of the room opened with a gentle _whoosh._

“Hey, you guys! That was _awesome._ ” It was Clover Ebi. Tall, broad and handsome with the kind of enthusiasm that made Winter feel a little ill. “I was walking past the viewing gallery but couldn’t stop myself from watching, it was fantastic. You were really going for it!”

“It’s ‘cause I hate her.”

“We don’t like each other.”

Creepily in unison to disavow any notion that they could actually stand each other, as always.

Clover arched one eyebrow, a grin playing at his lips as he crossed his arms. “Not sure if I believe _that,”_ he said. And just for that very implication, Winter held out her hand expectantly. She watched as Clover first rolled his eyes then crossed the mats to take her hand and help her up. She dusted off her clothes and gave a satisfied little _hmph._

But Clover wasn’t paying her much attention anymore. His eyes landed on the scythe unceremoniously discarded on the floor, next to it’s sprawled-out master. She could tell Clover was tamping down some of his excitement, if the slight bouncing on his toes was anything to go by. “Y’know, I was always a bit of a weapons geek at the Academy.”

“I recall,” Winter said briskly. “I also recall a number of explosions in the research and development department that set off the sprinklers. _And_ interrupted my class presentation on one particular occasion.”

Embarrassment wasn’t something she was used to seeing on Clover’s face - he was so brazen - but there it was, turning his face pink as he stepped across the mats and offered a hand to the elder huntsman, who used it to pull himself to his feet.

“You must’ve been popular with the ladies,” Qrow said in that dry tone of his, his hand still locked with Clover’s.

Clover dropped his gaze to their interwoven hands and then blushed an even more violent red before pulling away and rubbing at the back of his neck in the international sign of _I wish the ground would open and swallow me right now._

 _Oh, Clover,_ Winter thought with dawning realisation, watching the nervous flit of his eyes, _you poor, sweet boy._

“He never did have much _luck_ with girls,” she said, resisting the urge to snicker at her old schoolmate’s squirming. It was more a manipulation of the truth than it was a lie. Clover had never had any luck with girls because he had exactly zero interest in them. Much to their dismay. Pretty much the only girl at Atlas Academy who hadn’t fawned hopelessly over Clover – besides herself, of course – had been Robyn Hill. Now _that_ had been a rivalry for the ages.

Qrow gave Clover a considering look, but Winter had no doubt there was just as much obliviousness and _rattling_ going on behind those rust red eyes as there usually was. “Now that I don’t believe.”

Clover’s head whipped up so fast, Winter felt a pang of sympathy for his neck. “How so?” he asked, no doubt trying to sound nonchalant. She caught the quiver, though.

Qrow was brushing past him, gathering up and retracting his weapon into a broadsword. She often wondered if he moved like that because he thought it made him look cool or if he genuinely was just so laidback, frustratingly making him _actually_ cool. “I don’t stroke egos for free, kid. You’d have to buy me dinner first.” And the bastard really winked as he slipped past Clover, heading for the door.

Ebi looked at her, as if to check whether he was dreaming, and he seemed like he was experiencing at least thirteen systems malfunctions. Winter almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“Oh, and Clover? If you like weapons, you oughta speak to a woman by the name of Maria Calavera. She has a _colourful_ history. Taught me everything I know.” And then the door clicked shut behind Qrow.

Winter had never seen a man who was easily six feet tall and nearly as broad _swoon_ before. But there was a first time for everything.

“Oh, Clover,” she said. She tried to keep the mocking out of her tone. Honestly, she did.

* * *

**III. Yang**

There were a lot of bad things about missions that took them to hard-to-reach places. Especially when said missions get dragged out by a succession of fuckups and bad fortune. The worst thing about them, though, in Yang Xiao Long’s opinion, was the food.

Not to be overly dramatic or entirely ungrateful, but you know your day is going from bad to worse when someone whips out a ration packet.

At least in Mistral, there was the option of going back to times long forgotten and foraging and hunting for food. The busted-up packet of beef jerky that tasted like old boots was only ever the fall back. But stuck in the icy tundra with a blizzard blowing outside… well, Yang wasn’t sure how her ethics lined up with hunting penguins, and she definitely wasn’t out to lose her remaining flesh fingers to frostbite.

There had been a tense radio call with Robyn Hill – because Atlas’ airships were grounded and because she and Clover exclusively communicated by swapping thinly veiled threats – and they were expecting relief from the Happy Huntresses as soon as the blizzard lifted. In the meantime, it was all about somehow staying civil with each other while sharing a space about as large as a supply closet. For Yang, that meant keeping her hunger pangs under lock. Was it irritating that Atlas could somehow float Amity Colosseum in the air like it was a rubber duck on bath water, but they hadn’t figured out how to 3D print a cheeseburger? Yes, a bit. But it wasn’t worth going into a full red-eyed blazing fury and punching out the back doors of the truck. That’s what she told herself anyway.

Instead of thinking about how hungry she was and how her ration pack hadn’t even put a dent in it, she decided to focus on the fact that Blake was currently sleeping on her shoulder. Yes. Much nicer. Even if it did still make her heart stutter anytime she thought too hard about it.

Penny was up front, chatting with the poor driver that had accidentally lodged them in a snow drift on the way back from a delivery run. Yang couldn’t hear what they were talking about from here, but she often found herself marvelling at Penny’s ability to relate to anyone and everyone. Sometimes, Yang thought it must be part of her programming to be as non-threatening as possible but most of the time, she was pretty sure it was just _Penny._ Thinking back on the first time she’d ever spoken to Blake, and how quickly it had dissolved into an argument when she was then having her first ever conversation with Weiss, Yang cringed, envying Penny’s unabashed enthusiasm for new people.

Her Uncle Qrow and Clover Ebi were locked in a tournament of increasingly complex card games, a supply crate acting as their poker table. But she could see her Uncle’s focus slipping in the droop of his eyes and the way his head kept dipping dangerously.

She could relate. Blake’s warmth at her side and her gentle, rhythmic breathing was also lulling Yang into a sleepy stupor. She nearly jumped when something soft landed on her legs and looked up to see Clover Ebi yanking another blanket out of a box to hand to Uncle Qrow. “Get some rest, guys. We’re not going anywhere,” he said.

Smiling slightly, Yang shook out the blanket and spread it over herself and Blake. She tried not to lean into the dark-haired girl _too_ enthusiastically, but a girl’s gotta sleep, right? That’s what she told herself anyway as she rested her head on top of Blake’s and smiled to herself when the cat ears twitched.

Sleep was sweeping up on her like the softest of waves, but the sound of crinkling foil brought her back from the edge. Her tired eyes opened just a little. Enough to see Clover Ebi slide a silver foil packet across the mock table to Uncle Qrow, who still clung to consciousness.

Her Uncle made a noise that sounded vaguely like a question and Clover’s lips twitched into a smile. “Don’t even bother saying no. I need you at full strength,” he said quietly, suddenly seeming very intent on his gloves.

Uncle Qrow looked down at the ration packet and then back up at Clover. “But it’s yours,“ he protested, his voice sounding even throatier than usual in his exhaustion.

Clover shrugged. “And I’ve been eating three solid meals every day for the last year. You haven’t. Don’t deny it.”

With a pang of guilt, Yang looked to her Uncle, wondering if it was that obvious or if Clover was just perceptive. No matter how much they protested, Uncle Qrow had always been last to eat when they were on the road, saying he was the only one used to not eating regularly and the only one who wasn’t either still growing or collecting their pension. That always earned him a smack and a sharp titter from Maria. Ruby said he’d been the same before Haven, too. Looking at him now, it was clear in the sharpness of his face, the jut of his collarbone just visible where his shirt opened.

Faintly, she wondered where her Uncle’s penchant for self-sacrificing came from.

It couldn’t be genetic. His twin was proof of that.

Uncle Qrow picked up the foil packet, relief visible in the quiver of his fingers, and sent Clover a small smile.

Clover Ebi’s green eyes were soft as he regarded her uncle, and there was a sweetness in his smile that made Yang suddenly very aware that she was eavesdropping on something private.

She closed her eyes and rested back against Blake. Her cheeks might be burning, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her lips.

* * *

**IV. Penny**

Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses helped them dig the truck out of the snow drift the next day. Hill told them she and her team were heading north into Solitas to provide relief to smaller communities stuck without supplies in the blizzard. So, the huntresses sent them off with a resupply and the happy reminder that better hunters than them had died from exposure on the tundra, so they ought to be more careful. And if Hill was prickly and reluctant, Penny weighed that up against the help she provided when she didn’t have to and decided that Robyn Hill was a good person. She just made a habit of concealing good intentions behind an icy veneer. It was something that didn’t quite compute with Penny, why anyone would want to conceal their kindness when that was clearly such a desirable trait. But Penny was new to relationships and emotions, after all, and decided she would just ask her father about it when they got back to Atlas.

On the subject of relationships and emotions she did not quite understand yet, the two Huntsmen on their delivery run were proving confusing to her also.

Captain Ebi had always been straightforward enough for her to decode. He was the rare sort of person who did not hide his true intentions behind euphemisms and poorly constructed excuses, and he seemed to take pride in his own honesty. Penny liked that about him. But right now, he seemed on edge, like he feared saying or doing the wrong thing. It was so unlike him and it seemed to be largely to do with her friend Ruby’s uncle.

Outwardly, Mr Branwen couldn’t have been less like Captain Ebi if he tried. Ruby’s uncle had always been frustratingly nonsensical to her. In Beacon, he spoke and acted like an invincible man and life’s troubles just bounced right off him, but when he thought no one was watching, there was a sadness so strong Penny often felt like it panged in her own heart. He was sad, but he would not speak about it. Instead, he drank from his flask - the same type that the General carried - even though that made him even sadder. It was so illogical it was maddening to Penny. She had even asked the General once, during the Vytal festival, why Mr Branwen had so many people who cared about him but was still desperately sad. So many friends and loved ones seemed like a dream to Penny. The General had looked like his mind was in a place far away and told her, “Some people find it difficult to ask for help, Penny.”

This Mr Branwen was doing better, she could see. Or at least he was trying to. But even the effort of trying seemed a vast improvement to Penny. It did not seem like he drank alcohol anymore and his nieces seemed to pull out a strength in him where before there had only been love tainted by pain, like a fistful of crushed rose petals.

And Captain Ebi seemed to forge a new energy in him too. A new edge, a new eagerness, perhaps.

But what Penny could only interpret as a positive thing, a friendship, seemed to bring about a lot of strife for the Huntsmen. Just this morning, when they had all been throwing their weight behind the truck in an attempt to prise it free, Mr Branwen had slipped on a patch of ice but before he could hit the ground, Captain Ebi had him wrapped up in one arm, holding him up. The two men had looked at each other for the briefest second before jumping apart like they had been scalded, going red in their faces and resolutely not so much as glancing at the other.

It had made no sense to her – as her boots deployed crampons into the ice and she gave the truck a rocket-propelled shove that did the trick – would Mr Branwen have preferred if Captain Ebi let him fall and hurt himself? Was Captain Ebi wishing he had done just that? She didn’t see the friendship in that. Or the love.

“Are you okay, Penny?”

She probably should have noticed the approach of Blake and Yang climbing up to the front of the truck, now back on the move, but she had been so deep in thought. “Why, yes, Blake,” she said, “In fact, I feel fantastic!” It was true.

Yang raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. “We were just checking. You kinda looked like you blew a circuit or something.”

“That would be highly unlikely! My father is the foremost engineer in all of Atlas and takes great care in his work.”

Blake had a softer smile than Yang, she noticed. Yang smiled with all her features. “Of course, Penny,” the Faunus Huntress said. “Are you and your father close?”

Penny opened her mouth to reply with the affirmative when Yang’s face blanched and she pointed out the windscreen with her prosthetic arm. “Stop the truck,” was all she said. Penny looked out the windscreen and was greeted with the sight of a particularly large and aggressive looking Polar Beowulf bursting out of the ice. The driver hit the brakes and the truck started sliding to a halt. “Uhhh… guys?” Yang called out to the senior Huntsmen in the back of the truck.

Captain Ebi was up and in charge in an instant, his face instinctively slipping into the Atlas military mask of calm and control. “Qrow and I will take point. Blake and Yang, use the flanking method that we practiced last week. Penny? I need you to protect the truck and the driver,” he said, and was met with agreement from them all. With a brisk nod, Clover pulled his weapon loose from his side and hopped out the truck. They all followed suit, with Penny sticking back to protect the vehicle and the slightly terrified driver. Despite the aviators concealing his eyes, Penny could tell that the driver couldn’t take his eyes off the Polar Beowulf. It was making the ice quiver under their feet as it pounded towards them. “Keep your calm, guys. We’re out in the open here and we don’t need to bring more Grimm down on us,” Captain Ebi said over the comms.

He was correct, Penny thought, as she looked out over the vast expanse of nothingness that sprawled in every direction. White and blue shot off into the horizon. They were alone and exposed. She fanned out her swords in a crescent above her head and dug in for the fight.

Captain Ebi was quick to throw himself into battle, with Mr Branwen hot on his heels. The fishing line flew, hooking onto spikes and fur and any purchase it could find, as Mr Branwen’s scythe fell in a flash of fury. With the Grimm engaged in front, Blake and Yang made their approaches from opposite sides and then, Yang’s gauntlets were flashing, and Blake was a blur of movement and false afterimages.

It should be a short fight, she thought with a small measure of relief, as Hunters fell on all sides of the massive beast. But the Grimm seemed to just grow more determined in its fury and it looked big enough to swallow a man the size of General Ironwood whole. It brought down one swipe of its great paws after another and even with Mr Branwen making practiced swoops out of its way, Penny felt something akin to worry fluttering inside of her.

There was a flash of black as Blake’s blade arced into the air, swinging around the beast’s neck and artfully landing in Yang’s waiting hands, who then leapt forward to jam the blade home. Mr Branwen chose that moment to land an arcing cut on the beast’s face to keep its gnashing teeth away from his niece, but it seemed only to serve to upset the beast even more.

Maybe it was the difficulty of fighting on ice as slick as oil, maybe it was his concern for his niece, maybe it was pure bad luck.

Whatever it was, Mr Branwen didn’t see the claw swinging towards his midsection.

Somehow, Captain Ebi did.

In a flash of blue and white, the Captain threw his body between the Grimm and its target. The blow fell and a million green shards spiderwebbed around the Captain’s body as his aura shattered.

_“Clover!”_

Before Mr Branwen could even raise his scythe, Penny sent all her blades surging into the chest and skull of the Polar Beowulf, her fury steadying her aim. The beast seized and then crumpled into a pile, but she didn’t pay much attention as she rushed forward to where the Captain was slumped on the ice.

The next seconds were a blur as she helped Mr Branwen carry him back to the truck. They all piled into the back and the driver put the accelerator to the floor, driving through the fluttering remains of the Beowulf.

The white front of Captain Ebi’s tunic had a large gash mark across the stomach, but somehow, miraculously, the brunt of the hit had been taken by his aura and his skin was barely broken. Penny pushed up Captain Ebi’s jacket and heard the hiss and felt the push back as she traced her fingers over his ribs. “His ribs are bruised,” she informed them, “but the bleeding is superficial.”

Yang was watching with wide lilac eyes and Blake looked as though she might bite through the skin of her bottom lip, her fingers tightly curled into the sleeve of Yang’s jacket.

Mr Branwen was watching Captain Ebi’s unconscious form with a look of cold fury.

There was a fluttering in the Captain’s eyes, the rough motion of the speeding truck pulling him back to consciousness. He groaned weakly as he lifted his head and Blake immediately rushed forward to help him, taking him by the hand and guiding him into a seated position against the wall. The Captain’s eyes were hazy, looking from Blake, to Penny who still crouched near him, to Yang who was still frozen in place, and then to Mr Branwen. “What happened?” he said, barely above a whisper, raising a hand to his head that was no doubt pounding.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” Mr Branwen ground out, his eyes flashing dangerously.

 _“Qrow,”_ Yang hissed at him, but her uncle didn’t seem to notice.

“Ugh,” the Captain moaned, and looked away from the other Huntsman. “I feel like somebody dropped a building on me.”

“That is because your aura was shattered completely,” Penny said, showing him the blinking red bar on her scroll.

The Captain looked surprised at that and uttered another _“Ugh,”_ before his head fell back against the wall.

The ride was deadly quiet after that.

Penny remained crouched next to the Captain, who slowly clawed back his lucidity and winced every time the truck hit a bump. Blake and Yang sat against the other wall, the former throwing worried glances at Captain Ebi and the latter not so discreetly glaring at her uncle, who was radiating anger from a corner.

Penny found herself deeply confused once again. If she did not know any better, she might have said that the Captain and Mr Branwen strongly disliked each other. But all the evidence would surely incur the opposite. Anytime Ruby Rose had leapt into danger for Penny, she had felt privileged to have such friendship and love, but Mr Branwen seemed like he was feeling anything but heartened.

As the truck trudged back into Mantle and the atmosphere inside seemed as icy as the tundra, Penny resigned herself to the fact that she might need to ask her father for a recalibration. She was trying to understand it all – relationships, emotions – she really was. But she just couldn’t quite figure it out.

When they arrived back at the Academy, Yang had sent a scroll message ahead and there was a medical team waiting for them. Captain Ebi was dragged away in one direction by a team of doctors and nurses and Mr Branwen went the opposite way, his hands dug into his pockets and a stormy look on his face. Blake and Yang, at a loss for something to say, gave her meek smiles and went off in a third direction. Penny was left standing there, wondering how she was supposed to make sense of it all.

Hours later, when the sun was hidden below the horizon and the sky was an inky blue, she was called to the General’s office to debrief. She explained the mission and the accident as systematically as she could, but the General could see the conflict creeping into her words and features. “It must have been frightening, Penny,” he said in a gentle tone, “to see that.”

“It was,” she admitted, because she had felt afraid when she watched the Captain fall. “I am just struggling to comprehend.”

The General frowned. “Comprehend what?”

She looked up and met his piercing gaze with her own. “Mr Branwen was… _upset…_ that Captain Ebi would protect him at the risk of his own body. But to me, that seems like a great honour. To have someone care about you so deeply they would do that for you.”

He must have sensed something in her expression, the distance and pain in her eyes, and said, “You realise there are many people here who would do so for you, right, Penny? Myself and your father, of course. Your friend, Ruby Rose comes to mind.” His frowns had started leaving lines in his skin behind, she had noticed. He looked older. “That night is one of my greatest regrets. That I couldn’t-“ he let out a frustrated noise and took a gulp from a coffee cup that her enhanced sense of smell told her was spiked.

Penny nodded. A warmth spread in her chest. “I know, General.”

He sighed and drunk again, but the furrow of his brow softened. “To answer your question,” he glanced out of the window, at the deep swirl of the night sky, “Qrow cares. A lot. He just… has a funny way of showing it.”

The General’s words lingered in her mind as she left his office and made her way back to her quarters. Maybe he was right, and there were just deep complexities to more basic emotions that Penny was yet to experience and understand. It was possible, she decided, to love someone and be angry with them, to not accept love for yourself. There was a lot of anger in Mr Branwen, she realised. Always there, bubbling under the surface, appearing in the flash of his red eyes. But unlike the niece, Yang, who directed all her fury outwards at the world, the uncle directed it inwards, at himself.

It was not healthy, to be so angry with yourself all the time. Her father had taught her that after the Fall of Beacon and the heavy lead weight of failure had settled on her. _You must show the same forgiveness to yourself that you show to the people you care most about,_ he had told her, _because to do anything else is to admit that you do not care about yourself._

She was still thinking on that when she arrived at the lodgings for Atlas Special Operatives and heard the commotion, people shouting. She rushed to the open door on the hallway, poised to protect, when she realised the voices were familiar.

“-you _arrogant_ bastard, what gives you the right-“ Mr Branwen raged. They came into sight and Penny was surprised to see an exhausted looking but otherwise put together Captain Ebi. His torn jacket had been swapped for a loose t-shirt, but other than his weakened, pulsing aura, he did not seem to be hurt or in pain. A miraculous escape, indeed.

“-to save your life?” The Captain finished. He was grinding his teeth and his fists were balled up at his sides.

Mr Branwen pushed into the Captain’s personal space in a way that could only be described as confrontational. “I didn’t ask you to,” he ground out.

“So what?” Captain Ebi was shouting now, the sound reverberating down the hall, but neither of them noticed Penny, too intent on shouting down the other. “Was I supposed to just let you die?”

“Well, better me than you! This Kingdom needs you. _Ironwood_ needs you.”

“And your girls need you! What do you want me to do, take your body back to a seventeen-year-old kid and tell her sorry but he just didn’t think he was worth saving? Get over yourself, Branwen.”

“ _Gods,_ you’re such a-“ there was a thud as Captain Ebi’s back hit the wall and Mr Branwen rushed forward. The last word was lost as their lips came together, like an ocean whipped up by a storm, aggressive and torrential and inevitable. Hands were on sides, arms, faces. Teeth clacking, words swallowed, nails digging in and holding on for dear life.

Penny had the feeling that she had seen much more than she should have and turned to go. She clicked the door of the apartment shut behind her, as softly as possible, but doubted either man in their heated frenzy would even notice.

As she went down the hall to her own lodgings, she felt no less confused than she had before, but she did know one thing.

She didn’t need recalibration. She understood that what she had witnessed was love. Blooming and complicated and painful, yes, but it was love.

* * *

**V. Harriet**

Clover awoke early the next morning to the dawn light playing across his eyes. Had they forgotten to shut the blinds? His body ached all over. His legs and arms and head were heavy and stiff, but he had been sideswiped by a Polar Beowulf, so he hadn’t expected much else. It wasn’t all bad, though. Deep in his stomach, there was an ache that was one of satisfaction instead of pain, and the warmth at his side was all the reminder he needed.

Qrow’s head lay on his shoulder, his naked, narrow body curled like a bracket around Clover’s broader form. In sleep, the frown lines smoothened and the dark cloud he seemed to drag around with him melted away. Every now and then, Clover thought he saw red shimmer around Qrow’s shoulders, neck. A deep, rusted red that melted into his own aura, now faded and struggling green. Of course, Qrow’s aura would be trying to patch up his own. Of course.

There was stirring, a deep inhale, and then vermillion eyes were peeling open, blinking against the harsh morning light.

“Hey,” Clover murmured. His heart squeezed in his chest.

“Mmm,” Qrow mumbled, and burrowed into the crook of Clover’s neck, hiding from the sun. Clover hummed. He hoped that his thudding pulse wasn’t too obvious.

“We forgot to shut the blinds,” he said.

Qrow snorted. “Wasn’t far up my list of priorities last night.” Clover would have seconded that if it wasn’t for the fact that his own brain spent most of last night short-circuiting. Caught in an endless loop of _Is this really happening?_ And _Qrow, Qrow, Qrow._

The tip of Qrow’s nose was just nudging the tender spot below his ear where his jaw met his neck, and the older huntsman’s breath was blustering warm against his skin. Clover shifted closer, onto his side, and looped a leg over Qrow’s, grazing a calf with his foot. “Well, we’re awake now. Maybe we should use our time wisely, before we’ve got to be anywhere.”

The noise that came from Qrow’s throat was somewhere between a moan and a hum, and he looped an arm around Clover’s neck and pulled the larger man on top of him. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Clover chuckled, taking in the lithe and beautiful person underneath him, the silver scars that crisscrossed pale skin and the unruly nest of greying black hair. Then he leaned down and kissed him.

Qrow sighed into the kiss like a drowning man breaking the surface for air, his hands finding purchase in Clover’s hair, rings and ragged fingernails pressing into his scalp. Clover keened into it, and maybe he was just going to have to deal with the fact one day that he liked people playing with his hair. Or maybe he just liked Qrow doing it, long slim fingers sending tingles down his spine. There was a scrape of fingernails on his scalp and Clover’s hips gave an involuntary jerk, a small whine in this throat, and Qrow broke away with a laugh.

“Eager, are we?” Qrow said, “Lucky me.”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Clover said, and punctuated it by rolling his hips into Qrow’s in a way that made the older man groan. “This is all skill.”

Qrow was laughing again, but Clover shut him up by capturing his mouth in a kiss, licking into the other man’s mouth in earnest. Qrow had one hand tangled in his hair, another on his ass, and Clover was trailing his hands lower down Qrow’s ribs when-

There was a knock at the front door.

Clover groaned. Qrow broke away for a half second, said, “Tell them to fuck off,” before resuming their activities. It was tempting, it really was. The way Clover’s hips fit so perfectly in the cradle between Qrow’s legs. Long slender arms looping around his back. The way he would keen and whimper and drag his fingernails over Clover’s skin when Clover pushed into him-

Another knock. More of a bang this time.

Clover broke away. “What?” he barked, and the annoyance in Qrow’s eyes was softened by a touch of amusement at that.

“Clover, it’s Harriet,” came the call from the other side of the front door.

“Is she battery powered? It’s gotta be like six in the morning,” Qrow grumbled. To be fair to Harriet, that was when the Ace Ops began training. Clover was no doubt reaping the rewards of his own peppy attitude right now.

Clover sighed, looking mournfully at Qrow, before he rolled off the other man. “Coming!”

Qrow sighed but didn’t protest, and Clover pretended he couldn’t feel the other man’s stare as he yanked on yesterday’s pants. He nudged the bedroom door halfway shut behind him and stumbled across the living room as he struggled with the fly of his trousers. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit a lot of his higher brain function was… otherwise occupied right now.

The force with which he yanked the front door open probably would’ve been enough to make Harriet jump if she hadn’t immediately homed in on his state of undress and the absolute mess his hair likely was. “Captain,” she said, trying to hold his gaze respectfully.

“Harriet,” he said. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thanks for checking up on me. That’s good of you.”

“Well, I – not that we weren’t checking up on you, but we were just headed to training and we didn’t know whether to expect you or not,” she said, her shocks of blonde and brown hair entirely too well-groomed at this time in the morning. “The General told us you took a pretty heavy hit yesterday. Your aura-“

He hadn’t even thought much about it since he’d woken up, but he reached out to his aura now. It was bruised and shaky, yes, but it was there. Of less concern was the broken skin on his midriff, which had scabbed over and was healing nicely thanks to his aura. Gods, he hadn’t even remembered about that last night, had he? During their… activities. “My aura is recovering,” he told her. “I got lucky.”

Harriet looked him up and down and raised her eyebrows as if to say _yeah, you did, clearly._ “So… training?”

“Well, I-“ Clover sent a backwards glance to the half-shut bedroom door and then stopped himself, mentally berating himself for being so obvious. “I would-“

Suddenly, the door was opening, and Qrow was striding out. Fully clothed aside from struggling with the buttons of his shirt. Clover tried to press down on the pang of regret in his chest at seeing the huntsman fully clothed again.

“He would love to,” Qrow finished for him, drawing level with Clover. He smirked at the way Harriet was gawping at them. Her eyes flitted between the two of them in disbelief. Clover’s cheeks were burning. Just for something to do with twitching hands, he batted Qrow’s hands away from his buttons and finished them up for him.

“Would I?” he asked Qrow when he was done. He resolutely ignored the comical look on Harriet’s face. No doubt Marrow would know as soon as she could tell him.

And once Marrow knew something, all of Atlas did.

Qrow shrugged. “You’ve got better things to do than hang out with a dusty old has-been.”

Clover bit his lip, trying not to become transfixed on Qrow’s tilted brow, the depth of his eyes. The self-deprecating roll of his shoulders. “Hey, you know there’s no one I’d rather spend time with.” It kind of slipped out. The way Harriet’s face blanched said as much. She looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

Qrow looked shocked for a second, but then a soft smile played at his features. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he murmured, but crowded in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Clover’s mouth regardless. He slipped past Harriet in the doorway and sent Clover a wink over his shoulder. “Later.”

Clover could do little else but watch him go, leaning against the doorframe and letting out a blustering sigh.

There was the sound of a tongue clicking and he looked to Harriet, who had her arms crossed against her chest and was looking up at him. “Him? _Really?”_

Something ugly flared in him. “What’s your problem?” he snapped, drawing himself up to his full height. He wasn’t a stranger to pulling rank when he had to.

She knew that. “Nothing,” she backed off immediately with a nonchalant shrug. “You’ve got it _bad,_ though.”

He could feel warmth pooling in his cheeks and an indignant flicker in his chest. She wasn’t _wrong._ “I need to get changed,” he said, in lieu of answer, and shut the door in her face.

* * *

**\+ I. Qrow**

Qrow found his way through the winding halls of Atlas Academy, his feet on autopilot. Clover’s pipsqueak colleague hadn’t really needed to see that – hadn’t _wanted_ to, judging by the look of pure disgust on her face. But, for as much self-respect as Clover told him he lacked, Qrow had always resolutely refused to be anybody’s dirty little secret. He was better than that. Maybe he wasn’t the sort of guy that you flaunted on your arm at fancy parties, but he wasn’t something to be ashamed of either.

When they’d been younger and somehow even dumber, and the pain of losing Summer had still been much too close, it was the one thing that had kept him from falling into Tai’s arms. Or James’s, for that matter. _Ugh._ He didn’t need reminding what a mess he was back then. Drinking, brawling, screwing up missions at such a rate that few in the community would even give him the time of day. Holding Ruby in his arms and nearly dropping her because the panic attack came on so fast and seized up his chest like a vice. No. He didn’t need reminding of those days.

If there was one thing Qrow had figured out in the last seventeen years, it was that you don’t ruin a perfectly good relationship by fucking someone. His solid, trustworthy friendships were so few and far between after his little meltdown that that gem of knowledge had proved invaluable to him. Not when James looks warm and strong and inviting and there’s an itch in you that you just can’t scratch. Not when your brother-in-law, the last bastion of your sanity, is looking like the loneliest man in the world even though you’re sitting _right there._ In the life of a huntsman, it was the line in the sand. You don’t love the people you fuck, and you don’t fuck the people you love.

Which is where Clover predictably came along and shit started going sideways.

That man made his chest ache, his heart pound, his hands go all shaky. It was like the worst of the alcohol withdrawals, but it didn’t actually feel _bad._ Instead, there was this soaring sensation inside of him, not unlike how it felt to have the wind beneath his wings, and he somehow felt like everything would be alright, so long as Clover kept smiling at him like that.

Just thinking about it kind of made Qrow want to double over in a potted plant and vomit.

What exactly was happening to him? He thought, yesterday, watching that idiot throw himself in harm’s way to protect him, there would be less of an immense pressure on his chest if he just knew what it was to touch Clover, to feel him, to be with him. But now it all felt a thousand times worse, and like the only time the anvil lifted was when Clover was there and he could see him, hear him, feel him, taste him.

Gods, but this is all so _fucked._

He made a promise a long time ago. A promise to himself. It was there to protect people, to keep them safe from the havoc that Qrow wreaked with every step. He wasn’t about to put someone in danger just because there was this… this indescribable _thing_ in his chest.

He could’ve talked himself in circles for hours, becoming more and more lost in the hallways, if he hadn’t stumbled across Ruby then.

His younger niece was bleary eyed, no doubt fresh out of bed, and stamping her way into an unlaced leather boot as she hobbled behind Penny and the rest of her team, who were already disappearing around a corner. Even Ruby had her limitations this early in the day, it would seem.

“Uncle Qrow!” she said, nearly overbalancing and falling over in her half-shoed state.

Qrow grabbed her shoulder and held her steady as she finally got her boot on and tied the laces. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, pinning her cape back with his thumb to keep it from falling in her face.

She looked up at last and grinned at him. “I’m glad you’re alright! Penny and Blake and Yang told me what happened yesterday,” she said, and was that really yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago. “Is… Clover alright?”

He tried not to jerk his head up at the mention of the name. Probably failed. “Oh, uh, Clover? Yeah, he’s doing good. Better, I mean, than he was. I just saw him.” He faintly wondered how long it would take for gossip to reach his nieces’ ears. Tried not to wince at the thought. Just their old, embarrassing Uncle Qrow doing more shit he shouldn’t be doing.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ruby said, and the glimmer in her eyes said she meant it. Not that Ruby ever said much that she didn’t mean. She was earnest and wonderfully sincere. “I need to thank him. For protecting you.”

He was about to open his mouth to blow some smoke about his shitty semblance and idiots trying to get themselves killed, but Ruby pre-empted him and cut him off, no doubt expecting another dirge of self-loathing from him. “I’m glad you’re both okay,” she said. “And I’m glad you’re both happy. He makes you realise that you deserve to be happy, and I’m grateful to him for that.”

His mouth froze open, his tongue suddenly heavy and dry in his mouth, and he couldn’t reach out fast enough to stop Ruby from scattering away from him. Down the hall and out of sight, she’d said her piece.

And oh Gods, was that really what was happening?

Did Clover make him blindingly, stupidly happy?

Fuck.

Shit.

_Fuck._

His day went predictably downhill after that. There was a blur of training in the morning and then, basic Grimm clearance on the Mantle city wall in the afternoon, accompanied by Winter. But even the Ice Queen recognised his stuttering, shambling temperament and steered well clear of him that day. Not biting and not agitating him.

It was probably for the best, because with one misplaced swing of his scythe, he missed a Grimm entirely and ploughed the blade straight through a powerline in the ground, shutting off electricity to a whole city block. He’d insisted on staying with the team of electricians to defend them from Grimm for as long as it took for them to make repairs, but one of the electricians slipped on a patch of black ice and came dangerously close to frying herself on the live wires. Winter strictly but not unkindly instructed him to take the rest of the day off after that. She called in Nora to help her protect the site of the repairs, even though they both knew there wouldn’t be anymore near misses after he’d left.

Just to make him feel worse, not even Robyn Hill had any snarky words for him when he got back to the city. She just shrugged at him, said, “We all have bad days,” and offered him a ride back to Atlas. He gratefully accepted. He didn’t trust himself not to accidentally ram an airship into a day care nursery right now.

As the sun sunk in the sky that night and he paced the halls of the Academy, his head was spinning in circles.

He felt nauseous. There was an ache in his chest, a dry pain in his throat. He wasn’t sure _how_ he ended up at Ironwood’s personal quarters, raiding his liquor cabinet, but you would really think the head of both Atlas Academy and the military would have changed his passwords at least once since graduation. Or maybe the security scanner just recognised him or the sorry state he was in and took pity on him.

Ironwood kept much more expensive liquor than Qrow was used to, and he helped himself to an almost crystalline bottle of vodka. It didn’t surprise him that James was nowhere to be seen. That man was working himself into an early grave, whereas Qrow was intent on drinking himself to one. Ruby would be mad if she saw him like this, Yang even madder. They’d wanted him to stop. He had. Hadn’t touched the stuff in weeks. But he wasn’t strong enough, not right now.

The vodka was so smooth, the burn on his throat was nearly pleasant. He felt the liquid seeping into his bloodstream, spreading a fuzziness through his veins, and he groaned, letting his head fall back against the wooden frame of the sofa. His limbs felt lighter, like there was less weight pressing down on him like this. And for once, _just for once,_ his mind _shut up._ No intrusive thoughts, no nasty memories that made his hands shake, no pure, hateful bile clouding how he thought about himself. It was just the soft glow of an alcoholic haze.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, lifting a glass to his lips every time the darkness threatened to creep back in. Eventually, there was a click and woosh at the door, and the sound of someone’s footsteps halting suddenly.

“Qrow?”

Qrow sighed and flicked his rusted red gaze over at the General. “Jimmy,” he said. James wouldn’t judge. He knew this feeling too well.

As if to prove his point, the General sighed and sat down next to Qrow. He only wavered for a second, staring at the near-empty bottle, before tapping out a message on his scroll, chucking it down onto the table and pouring himself a neat vodka. “One of those days?”

Qrow snorted. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“What happened?” James had one thick eyebrow raised at him, surveying the flush on Qrow’s face, the looseness of his slurring words. Or he might have been, Qrow wasn’t sure. His vision wasn’t the clearest right now.

“You wanna know?” his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he knew that didn’t come out very clean. Ironwood ignored it though and nodded. Qrow sighed. Dragged in a ragged breath. “I think Clover’s in love with me.”

If that surprised Ironwood, he didn’t let it show, just raising the cut crystal glass to his lips and taking another draw. He coughed a little at the burn. “And that’s a bad thing because?”

Qrow couldn’t hold back the nasty glare he shot at the other man, putting his glass down on the coffee table with a resounding clatter. “You know why, Jimmy,” he spat out. “You know. We’ve known each other half our lives. You know what happens.” He pushed himself to his feet, and made for the door, but either gravity shifted or Qrow did, and his legs wobbled dangerously underneath him, threatening to send him headfirst into the table.

“You’re not going back to your room like this,” James said, jumping up to grab a hold of Qrow’s arm. “I’ll call the girls-“

Qrow shot him a sharp look. “If you call them now – let them see me like this. I won’t ever forgive you, James.”

He felt a pang of guilt as soon as he said it, saw the way the other man’s face wilted. “Qrow,” James said, softer this time. “I’m not going to let you be alone when you’re like this.”

Qrow looked at the iron cast grip on his arm, to the set look on James’ face, and sighed. “Guess you’re stuck with me then,” he said, flopping back down onto the sofa.

The quirk at the corners of James’ mouth could only be described as a hint of a smile. “Guess I am.”

No sooner had the world stopped spinning than there was a knock at the door.

James sighed and got back up, pacing over to the door and cracking it open so that Qrow couldn’t see out and the person on the other side couldn’t see in. “I’m sorry, I did send a message to say, but we need to postpone the debrief. Now’s not a good time.”

“Who’s it?” Qrow called to Jimmy. Evidently the vodka had loosened his grasp on basic language skills. And motor skills.

There was a beat of silence. And then a familiar voice called, unsure, “Qrow?”

_Fuck._

James grimaced, his grip staying tight on the door. “Clover, he’s not doing so great-“ he said.

“If he’s not doing great, then I want to see him,” Clover said in that stubborn tone of his. Out of the corner of Qrow’s eye he could see James bracing a hand on Clover’s shoulder and Clover shoving past him regardless. As politely as a Captain could shove a General, anyway.

Clover took a step into the room, past James’ reticent form, and saw Qrow sprawled on the couch, taking in the bottle before him and the loose curl of his fingers. “Hey,” he said stiffly. He probably had no idea what else to say.

“Pretty boy,” Qrow grumbled in lieu of greeting, and slumped forward to take another drink. Funny how that stuff stopped stinging your throat once you’d had enough of it.

Clover was looking between the bottle and Qrow, and in the younger man’s defence, he was doing his best to hold the look of disappointment off his face. He didn’t quite manage it though. It only stoked the flicker of annoyance inside of Qrow. “What’s going on?” Clover asked.

The laugh that bubbled from Qrow’s throat sounded mean and clipped. “Drinking until I pass out so I can get some fucking peace and quiet. Why? What does it look like?”

It was Clover’s turn for annoyance to flicker across his features like a flame. “I know _what_ you’re doing. I just don’t understand why. Not when you’ve been working so hard at this.”

Distantly, Qrow thought, _where was James?_ Had he seriously run off? Shut himself in his bedroom? Coward. Qrow oughta shout him back here and tell him to call off his attack dog. “Oh, fuck off, sunshine. You don’t know me,” he spat.

Clover flinched and hurt flickered on his face. Qrow drank to burn away the guilt that twisted in him at that. The younger huntsman recovered, though, and hid the hurt pretty well, coming over to the glass table. He picked the bottle up and put it down firmly on the other side of the table. Then, he took a seat on the edge of the glass, knocking Qrow’s sprawling legs out of the way. “I think I do know you,” he said quietly. Those green eyes were unshakeable. “We’re similar, you and me.”

“We’re not, though,” Qrow said. The room was spinning. He felt like he was riding waves and the only thing that had any firm footing was Clover. “ _What_ do we have in common? You follow orders like a good little toy soldier, I’m _me._ You’re a good person, I’m _me._ Our fucking semblances, there’s another good one. You’re fortunate, Clover. Everything you touch turns to gold.”

“Is that what this is about?” And there was an uptick of anger in Clover’s voice now, an undercurrent of barely repressed disbelief. “Your semblance?”

 _Fuck._ Did James’ apartment spin on a fucking axis or something?

“Everything is about my semblance,” Qrow ground out. He dug his thumb into the lines in the cut crystal glass and wondered how long he’d have to stare at it, malcontent, until it spontaneously shattered. A one in a billion occurrence, brought on by Qrow Branwen having a piss poor day.

“Not everything bad that happens is your fault-“

“Do you wanna know why I was so mad? With your little stunt yesterday?” He was treading on thin ice here, he could tell. Even Clover wouldn’t be endlessly patient with him. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was better this ended with a fight. There were worse ways this could end.

The sound in Clover’s throat was a frustrated groan. “Please! Tell me. Let me understand.”

Even after all this shit, even now. Trying to understand. It made Qrow angrier than anything else.

“The last time somebody started throwing themselves in harm’s way to protect me, they ended up dead.” Clover’s face fell, a mask of shock. “I can’t love you and then watch you die. Not again. I can’t.”

He’d said it now. It was out there.

In his dreams every night, he tried to grasp at the rose petals, but they scattered. They always did.

Clover sat there, watching him, for what felt like an eternity. He could feel heat crawling under his skin and prickling in his face. Hot tears leaving shining tracks. Whether it was the drink or the fact that he’d just said _that,_ he didn’t know. Those green eyes never left him though. Searching. Searching for something.

“You don’t get to decide who would die for you, Qrow,” he said. The broken silence crackled like static. “You don’t get to decide who loves you. That was their choice. That’s _my_ choice.”

Qrow felt like he was gathering the tatters of his strength as he met Clover’s eyes again. There was steel there, under the shifting sea green. He took Qrow’s trembling, slim hands in his own warm, safe ones.

“I can’t promise that you won’t lose me. I can’t promise that you won’t lose Ruby, or Yang, or one of the kids, or Ironwood, Winter, or anyone else that cares about you,” Qrow looked down at their hands. A tear splashed onto Clover’s thumb. “But I can promise that the one thing all of us have in common is that a world without Qrow Branwen is a world that none of us can bear to think about.” Clover sighed – a heavy, wounded thing – and rubbed his thumb over Qrow’s knuckles. “I can’t say that you won’t lose me. But I can say that I love you. And what’s any of it worth without that, anyway?”

There was a shuddering taking over his body.

Qrow surged forward. For something, for anything to tie him to reality.

Clover caught him by the shoulder, their lips inches apart, and smiled a smile that was somewhere close to hopeful. “Hey, take it easy,” he murmured. “We’ve got all the time in the world for that.”

He brought their foreheads together and Qrow just shut his eyes, listening to Clover’s deep breathes, the faint thudding of their hearts, the arctic winds outside.

Clover kissed the corner of his mouth, sweet and lingering.

Qrow smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, guys! I had the kind of day at work where the first thing I did when I got home was pour myself a g&t, but it gave me the drive to finish this fic that's been sitting in my drafts for a couple of weeks, so every cloud, huh? I realise the ending is quite sad, but I think it's quite in character. Qrow has a lot of baggage and Clover _wants_ to help him with it, which is lovely.
> 
> I also have my own ideas & theories about what happened to Team STRQ when Yang & Ruby were born, but I tried to keep it vague here so that no matter your opinions on all that, this would still read well. I was just working with the fact that Qrow loved Summer a lot (in whatever way floats your boat) and the common theory that he feels responsible for her death, due to his semblance.
> 
> Let me know what you think with a kudos or a review! I like to think I write Qrow and Clover pretty accurately, but I'm open to suggestions! <3
> 
> I yell about RWBY a lot on tumblr @baelonthebrave
> 
> EDIT 26/01/2020: so. This ending reads as a lot sadder than I originally intended, now that I’m thinking about it after watching Ch12. I’m sorry. In my head, in this fic, Clover is alive and very much in love with Qrow long after the ending of the fic. You’re of course welcome to decide what happens to him after the end of the fic for yourself, but I just want to say that there is NO authorial intent here to allude to the end of V7. Lots of love, guys ❤️


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